At dusk, morning light slanted across the stone floor of the research chamber. When Feln Elzen descended to the first floor, the aroma of medicinal herb tea was already drifting through the air. Ellen Garde had placed two cups on the table and turned to face her. "[gentle]Good morning," Feln nodded and sat in silence at the chair. What had changed in the past month? It was difficult to put into words. Yet there was no hesitation anymore in the motion of taking a seat at the table. A kind of unspoken understanding had grown between them—where Ellen would place his cup, where Feln would spread her notes, each confirming the other's position without a word. Feln took a sip from her cup. Ellen seemed to select and blend the medicinal herbs harvested from Weisswalt according to his own preferences, and the taste had shifted subtly over the past month. Today it carried a slightly stronger sweetness. Ellen's notebook from the previous day sat at the edge of the table. Feln drew it toward her and opened it. The experimental records from last night's magical compression work. Fine numbers, and hastily scrawled notes beside them. On the third page, there was a small error. Feln took up a quill pen and marked it with a thin line in the margin. She wrote no explanation. Ellen would understand when he read it. She returned the notebook to the table's edge. Ellen retrieved it and silently reviewed the mark. This kind of time had accumulated over the course of a month. --- Before noon, a knock sounded at the door. When it opened, a man in a grass-colored cloak stood waiting. Mid-forties, perhaps. Beneath his well-groomed beard lay eyes that seemed to be calculating something. "[serious]I serve as an inspector for the Southern Audit Bureau of the Continental Magic Association Ordina. My name is Heinrich Klaus," Feln recognized the name. It had appeared on documents from last month. This was the person responsible for reviewing research grants. "[serious]Prior to the formal examination next month, I have one matter to convey," Klaus withdrew a folded paper from his pocket. "[serious]The examination criteria have been revised, and a public demonstration of research results has been added as a scoring requirement. There is, as it happens, the Weisswalt Herb Festival in three days' time. If you were to demonstrate the application of flower-blooming magic at that venue, the evaluation of practical utility would increase substantially. Please give it your consideration," Having said his piece, Klaus departed. It was a brief visit. Feln examined the paper she had received. Her honest feeling was one of reluctance. To step out into the festival square and display magic to an indeterminate crowd. It was not that she was incapable of such a thing, but using magic to be evaluated by others seemed to deviate somewhat from the significance of her teacher Frieren's research. Yet if the grant ceased, the research would cease as well. The decision came in an instant. When she turned, Ellen stood in the hallway's depths. He had apparently heard everything. "[gentle]I'll help too," Feln paused for a moment before answering. "[serious]As long as you don't drag things down, I have no objection," A small relief crossed Ellen's face. The two of them then spread papers across the research table. The order of demonstration on the day, the types of magic to be used, the varieties of flowers to be displayed. Feln drew diagrams while Ellen wrote numerical values beside them. Partway through the work, Ellen spoke. "[serious]If we apply the Zolgraff compression technique and direct the magical power specifically at the flower buds, we might be able to control the speed of blooming. I think it would look impressive as a demonstration too," Feln examined Ellen's proposal. It was not something that would have emerged a month ago. Such applications could not be conceived without a proper understanding of the fundamental mechanisms of magic. He had grown more than she had anticipated. --- On the morning three days later, the central plaza of Weisswalt was already alive with activity. The Herb Festival—a local celebration held each autumn in gratitude for the medicinal herb industry that sustained the town. Stalls lined the square, and the dried scent of herbs mingled with the sweet aroma of baked goods. Children ran across the stone pavement, and in front of the inn "Lind's Branch," the proprietress Berta spoke with neighbors, smiling. Feln and Ellen constructed a platform at one corner of the plaza's edge. During the preparations, they argued once. It was when selecting the varieties of flowers to display. Feln had chosen three types based on magical efficiency and activation stability. Ellen proposed adding one more variety. "[serious]If we include this Ruprecht Laum, magical consumption increases by ten percent. The stability of the demonstration decreases," "[serious]But many children will come to the festival, I think. This flower has the most beautiful appearance, doesn't it?" Feln stopped her work. Logically, she was correct. Yet Ellen's words contained something Feln had not factored into her calculations. What was a festival for? What did the people who came to see it expect? Feln silently placed the Ruprecht Laum seeds that Ellen had indicated at the edge of the platform. "[gentle]Thank you," Ellen turned a smile toward her. Feln returned her face to the work. But she noticed that the corners of her own mouth had risen slightly. And what she did not notice was that Berta, the innkeeper passing by, was watching the scene intently. "That Miss Feln actually..." Berta whispered softly to a nearby farm woman. "She smiled, just now," she said. The farm woman's eyes widened as she turned back toward the plaza. In the ten years that Berta had lived in Weisswalt, few people had ever seen Feln smile. --- In the early afternoon, Ellen returned to the research tower once. He did not tell Feln the reason. From a drawer in the second-floor study, he withdrew a notebook. At the edge of a certain chapter in his teacher Frieren's ancient grimoire lay a sequence of numbers—which he had spent the past month cross-referencing with a group of symbols in another chapter. The answer had emerged. The numbers were coordinates. A combination of bearing and distance. From Weisswalt as the starting point, westward toward the birch forest—Weisswalt—approximately two hours on foot. Why Frieren had embedded such a thing within the grimoire's pages, he did not know. Yet there was a certainty that something lay there. That much was sure. Ellen pressed the notebook with his hand. He had thought to speak of it today. But. He had read deeply into Frieren's grimoire without Feln's permission. He had analyzed his teacher's legacy on his own, as someone who had only recently become a disciple. He had not yet found the words to explain that. It was not something to speak of on a festival day, Ellen told himself by way of excuse. He returned the notebook to the back of the drawer and headed toward the plaza once more. --- When night fell, the plaza was illuminated by bonfires. The afternoon demonstration had gone well. The moment the Ruprecht Laum opened, the children cried out in delight. Feln listened to their voices while swiftly recording the subsequent magical consumption data in her notebook. When the festivities were in full swing, Ellen said to Feln: "[gentle]Would you like to step away from the plaza for a moment? There's a hill in the direction of the forest where the stars are visible quite well," Feln did not care for places crowded with people. Ellen had learned this over the past month. "[serious]...Very well," The two of them walked away from the firelight, along the edge of the birch forest. The night wind passing through the trees of Weisswalt was far colder than during the day. The white birch trunks floated pale in the moonlight. The sound of festival music drifted from a distance, gradually receding. When they reached the hilltop, the sky opened wide. The autumn starfield of the southern region was dense with light. Through breaks in the clouds, countless fine particles of light were visible. The lights of Weisswalt town scattered below the hill like a separate constellation. The two sat side by side. There was no conversation. Yet the silence was not heavy. That was strange. Feln gazed at the stars for a time. The fatigue from the demonstration slowly dissolved in the quiet night air. Ellen spoke softly. "[gentle]Teacher, may I...take something?" When Feln turned to look, Ellen was pointing near her hair. A birch leaf had apparently become tangled there. Feln nodded slightly. Ellen reached out carefully. As he tried to pinch the leaf between his fingers, his fingertip brushed against Feln's cheek—ever so slightly. Just a moment. Truly only a moment. Yet both of them went still. Feln turned her gaze toward the night sky. The sensation lingered on her cheek. She did not brush his hand away, did not stand, did not move. Only she averted her gaze, and her breath grew slightly uneven. The tips of her ears felt warm. Ellen remained frozen, the leaf in his hand. He had touched the teacher's cheek. That was fact. Yet what had unsettled Ellen was not that act itself—but rather the fact that the teacher had not pulled her hand away. The true nature of that disturbance, Ellen had long called "respect." From the night they first met, he had tried to convince himself of this. But it was different. This was not that. Now he understood clearly, and Ellen turned his gaze away from Feln's profile as she looked up at the starry sky. He should have said something. A simple "I'm sorry" would have sufficed. Just that one word. But his mouth would not open. There was the relationship of teacher and student. The fear of breaking it himself clogged something in his throat. The silence continued. Feln said nothing either. The wind blew, and the sound of birch leaves rustling filled the air. --- On the way back, Ellen had decided to speak. About the cipher. About Frieren's grimoire. Tonight, he would tell her properly. As he opened his mouth, a figure appeared walking toward them. It was Berta, the proprietress of the inn "Lind's Branch." She seemed to be returning after finishing the festival cleanup, still wearing her apron and carrying a hand-held bag. "[gentle]Oh, Miss Feln. Your demonstration today was wonderful. The children were absolutely delighted," Feln answered briefly, "Thank you." "[gentle]Oh, and another thing," Berta lowered her voice slightly. "[serious]This evening, a traveling gentleman came to the town entrance. A young man, built like a warrior. His eyes were...how should I say...sharp. And apparently he was asking about your name, Miss Feln—that's what the gatekeeper told me," Feln's movements stopped. "...Asking about my name," "[gentle]Yes. He didn't seem to stay at the inn, so I'm not sure where he is now, but I thought I should tell you," Berta said "Please be careful" and continued on her way. Ellen heard Berta's words beside her. He could sense the moment to speak about the cipher slipping away again. Not tonight, something within him said. Feln was silent for a moment, then began walking again. The light of the research tower was visible on the hill ahead. Feln entered her room and closed the door. Beyond the window lay the birch forest. In the moonlight, white trunks floated pale. The sensation lingered on her cheek. The light touch of fingertips. She had not pulled away. Why she had not, Feln could not sort out. She simply decided, quietly, to set that question aside for tonight. —He was asking about your name. Berta's words surfaced again. A name, inquired after. That was all. No further information. Yet something caught. Who. For what purpose. Before extinguishing the lamp, Feln looked